


In which Tarvek struggles with himself

by Overlord_Bethany



Series: unreliable narrators [7]
Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: I wasn't sure this was done, Mid-Canon, Multi, oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 12:38:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14105556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overlord_Bethany/pseuds/Overlord_Bethany
Summary: He's not usually this distracted.





	In which Tarvek struggles with himself

Tarvek felt Gil’s hand touch his own, and for a second he forgot to breathe. Was it an accident? No, Gil caught his hand and held on, just as though the years had never divided them. Tarvek gripped Gil’s hand, gave a squeeze, and then Gil pulled away. Too much? Too soon? Gil had probably already forgotten their betrothal. 

“Is that… good?” Gil asked Ms. Thorpe, but Tarvek had lost the thread of the conversation. Gil gripped him by the shoulder now, leaning close, anxious and forgetting that personal space existed. Tarvek kept perfectly still, breathing in the nearness of him, listening to the pounding of his own heart. The reality he had known had ended. He had somehow crossed into a parallel existence in which Gil did not hate him. 

“She often says that by  _her_  age, a person learns to welcome the ridiculous,” Ms. Thorpe said. 

Tarvek broke away from the overwhelming nearness of Gil. “See?” he said. “You  _are_  good for something.” Why did he do that?

He needn’t have worried, for Gil gave as good as he got. Ms. Thorpe shook her head at the both of them. 

“Lord, she’ll probably give you two knighthoods.”

Oh, no, British knighthood was the last thing he needed, thanks. Well, second to last, after pining over Gil. Tarvek concealed his grimace by turning toward the wardrobe. He took a pair of pants and held them out toward Gil. 

Gil let his sheet fall to the floor. 

Tarvek hoped he turned back to the wardrobe swiftly enough to hide his blushing. Inwardly, he recited every swear he had ever heard. He thumbed every shirt until he found one suitable for Gil, then handed it over without looking, but also without looking like he wasn’t looking. 

Sweet lightning, but he was a wreck. 

Ms. Thorpe saved him by asking after their intentions. Of course Gil mentioned the ongoing fight against the Other, and Tarvek volunteered his help without hesitation. No strings attached. Oh, well, just one. He covered Gil’s ears and informed Ms. Thorpe of his intent to free Gil from the Baron’s influence. 

Ms. Thorpe then brought up the subject of their eventual departure. “What will you do if the Lady Heterodyne chooses  _not_  to go with you?”

What? No, no, that was all wrong. Agatha wasn’t supposed to go with them, he was supposed to go with her. He was supposed to protect her and offer her counsel, and so far he’d done a miserable job of it.

Tarvek took minimal comfort in the fact that Gil seemed just as alarmed as he felt. 

_She’s trying to divide us. Albia knows that the three of us together could rule Europa uncontested._  Well, fine, let Albia and Ms. Thorpe play their little games. The Heterodyne was a force of nature, an agent of chaos even against her own will, and no one knew that better than Tarvek. 

He threw an arm across Gil’s shoulders, pulling him recklessly close for just a moment. “At least we have each other.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing.” But Gil didn’t shift away as quickly as Tarvek expected, and when he did, it was to tie his boots. He glanced upward, through a fall of overgrown hair, in a way that made Tarvek nearly desperate to kiss him. 

Tarvek reached out to push the offending lock of hair out of the way. “Ugh, I wish we had time to find you a barber before you meet Her Majesty.”

Gil stayed where he was, half-stooped, boot laces in hand. He gazed upward, and Tarvek found that moving the hair out of the way had resolved precisely nothing. Tarvek stared longer than necessary, longer than was prudent, until, with a little shake of his head, Gil turned away. 

“At least you’re not trying to strike matches on my face.”

“I'm… what?” The comment startled Tarvek enough to shake him out of his addled state of mind. Why in the world would anyone… Well, anyone other than that ridiculous pirate captain…

Oh. 

“That’s how Captain DuPree lets me know I need a shave,” Gil confirmed, and Tarvek squashed an unexpected twinge of jealousy. Someone else commented on Gil’s lack of grooming. How disappointing. 

It almost made him feel better that that person was Captain DuPree. 

“Maybe we can get her in on the haircut campaign.” He didn’t mean it. More likely than not, Captain DuPree wanted to see what Gil looked like with long hair. Gil laughed, though, which Tarvek counted as a victory. 

“Oho, no! She’d light my head in fire!”

“With a match she’s struck on your face?”

Gil called him a terrible person, but in a friendly way. Tarvek felt himself smiling. How had this happened? Not so long ago, they had honestly wanted to harm one another. 

Well, fine, not so long for him. Over two years for Gil. 

When Gil had turned away, Tarvek gave him a calculating glance. Huh. Was Gil lonely? He had been, long ago, when they’d first met. Solitude was Gil’s oldest, scariest nightmare, the fiend under the bed, the shadow that dogged his footsteps. Even now—or especially now—as Baron Wulfenbach, Gil must have painfully few people who cared about him for his own sake, and fewer still who understood him. 

And that was why Gil needed Agatha. That Gil might lose a friend here was unconscionable. Yes, a friend. As much as he adored Gil, as much as Gil adored Agatha, Tarvek knew the truth: Gil needed friends more than he needed lovers. No one else could see it, so the responsibility for this tangled mess fell to Tarvek. 

As usual.


End file.
